A Jar of Disgust
by Joannabelle
Summary: She’s splitting slightly at the seams, he can see some of her stuffing falling out. Ryan centric, and not so fluffy. M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the OC characters or anything.  
Rating: R  
A/N: I'll put this here, may contain very vague spoilers for upcoming episodes. Set at the end of epi 15. Slightly AU.  
For Cheeky. :D

A Jar of Disgust

_Chapter one_

Ryan rubbed his cheek as he made his way to the poolhouse. God, he'd underestimated her strength.

It was the day after Valentines Day, the day after he'd spent it on packing a dead boy's belongings into boxes with a cousin. The day after his girlfriend had accused him of being happy that he saw a boy drop off the side of a cliff in front of him. Not even a year after said girlfriend had shot his brother.

It was only after Valentines Day that Ryan had finally realized how much more he deserved from his girlfriend. Because a complete stranger had been more caring about him than someone he'd know for three years, and dated.

Reaching his bathroom, Ryan winced as he saw a long scratch on the side of his face. Dammit, she'd had nails.

In a way, he was a little mad that he hadn't got the necklace he'd given to her back. It's not like she'd been wearing it when he went to visit her, she'd had on some really ugly thing instead. Not that Ryan judged jewelry or anything, but it was just another point at how little she thought and cared about him that she wouldn't even wear something he'd spent four hours in a mall looking for.

On the fifteenth of February, 2006, the day after Valentines Day, Ryan Atwood had broken up with Marissa Cooper once and for all.

He remembered her once saying something about how she'd played tennis when she was young, and Ryan was blaming that for the fact he had a giant hand print on one of his cheeks. He'd told her he couldn't deal with it anymore, being with her and getting nothing out of it. She'd slapped as hard as she could, brought up topics such as how she'd 'shot his brother for him', and how he'd been waiting for something like Johnny's death to leave her, and screamed at him to get out of her trailer. So he'd left.

Washing his face, the scratch bleeding a little, Ryan walked out of the bathroom and lay down on his bed. He'd left the blinds shut this morning and his room was blissfully dark. He could close his eyes; he could hear the bottle smash and gunshots. And a phone ring.

He didn't move; it was probably Marissa, ringing to shout more insults at him and cry and drink in his ear. He didn't turn his head until the ringing stopped, the one in his head taking a little longer. Sitting up he leaned over, and froze when he saw the caller ID. He'd recognize that number anywhere.

Falling back on the bed Ryan frowned, a strange feeling buzzing quietly in his bones.

He'd call her back tomorrow. Now wasn't the right time.

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It was a couple of days later that Ryan remembered who'd rung him. She must've been staying at her mothers again, because no one else in Chino even knew his number anymore. Nor would they want to call him.

Seth was out with Summer, after yet again doing something stupid and he'd desperately tried to make up with her by taking her out for the day. Sandy was at the Newport Group, he'd been out since early morning, and Kirsten was … somewhere. Ryan had noticed her leaving the house every now and then and she'd never tell anyone where she went – not that they asked. So when Ryan entered the kitchen looking for a snack, he realized he'd probably be making his own dinner again. This would be the third night in a row, and Ryan would be honestly surprised if they remembered that his birthday was coming up. He was going to be eighteen this year.

After returning to the poolhouse he decided to give Theresa a call back, because it was about time. He picked up the phone and dialed her number, waiting as he heard it ring, the sound seeming oddly shrill in the back of his head. No one picked up.

Glancing around the room, Ryan got up. If she was staying in Chino and she'd rung him, she must want to talk. He'd go give her a visit, see if everything was okay. It would be the least he could do.

Grabbing the keys to the rover – and once again he wondered where Kirsten was, as Sandy had the other car – Ryan made his way out the door.

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Ryan could see clouds gathering up ahead, as he drove further into Chino, in what looked like it was going to be a bad storm. He could feel the electricity in the air, even with the windows closed and the AC on.

He better remind Theresa to close the windows before he left. This one was going to be bad, because Ryan had a strange feeling since he'd entered Chino.

Pulling up finally, the house didn't look right – only some of the curtains were drawn, and a few of the plants in the garden were dying, when they were usually watered every day. Ryan frowned.

Getting out of the car, Ryan made sure to lock the doors, and walked towards the house. He could hear his feet tapping on the concrete with ever step and it was oddly quiet, like someone had closed the door to reality. He could feel a breeze against his cheeks and it made him shiver. Approaching the door he noticed the screen was wide open and occasionally banging against the side of the house. But Theresa had called him a few days ago from this phone number, so Ryan knocked.

The silence around him seemed to get louder and Ryan stared at the rusty door handle, remembering when Trey was younger and he used to put greasy hands on it after eating. Ryan would watch as Trey got hit and later wordlessly clean it off.

Without really knowing why, he grabbed the door handle and turned it experimentally. It was unlocked.

Ryan pushed the door open and cringed.

The house stunk. Blanching, he took a step backwards. He knew that smell, but he couldn't place it. It was smothering, and Ryan gagged.

Scrunching his face he poked his head through the doorway. The room was black, and it was only afternoon. "Theresa?"

He walked into the house and, reluctantly, closed the door behind him. Theresa always got mad if he left it open.

Not bothering to turn on a light – he basically knew where everything in the house was anyway – Ryan walked towards the kitchen, where apparently the curtains hadn't been closed. "Theresa? It's Ryan. I … I missed your call the other day … your door was unlocked …"

Some dishes were in the sink, a couple of plates, cups and a bottle. So the place was obviously not abandoned, nor were they out of town. Feeling a bit strange, Ryan headed for what had been Arturo's bedroom. "Is anyone here?"

The smell getting heavier, and Arturo's bedroom was empty. "Theresa!" He walked out of the room.

The door at the end of the hallway was open, and Ryan could see the afternoon sun soaking into the carpet.

It had been Theresa's room, and Ryan remembered how on the way in one of the boards in the floor squeaked, and it had always gotten him into trouble. So as he went, he stood on it.

Then he found her.

Ryan gazed down, eyes wide, at the face of a girl he'd known more than half his life. She was lying on the floor, chest down on the dirty carpet, head turned in his direction. She was staring at him.

'What took you so long?' He could hear her ask, and knelt in front of her, inspecting her white face and rotting eyes. She was so pretty.

Taking one of her limp hands in his Ryan was startled at how cold she was. Her skin felt odd, almost looser, like it was hanging off her bones. Her nails were a light shade of purple and they were uneven, as though she'd cut them with scissors.

"How long have you been laying here, Theresa? You should be on the bed." He whispered. He didn't like her lipstick, it made her lips blue and cracked, like old shriveled fish skin, and Ryan had the urge to lick them better. "I thought you were in Atlanta?"

She stared at him skeptically because, 'Obviously I'm not. I'm dead.'

But she was lying, because she's speaking to him.

Looking closely at her Ryan remembered when Theresa's eyes used to shine, and her face glow. She was dull now, like she'd been washed one too many times and her colours had faded. People in Newport would have thrown her out long ago.

He could see stains on the carpet below her, and on her cheek, and it took him a few seconds to realize it was vomit. Cringing, Ryan finally noticed how her lips were slightly parted and it was _in_ there, dried in her mouth, dripped on her chin.

It was then he heard the crying.

Ryan could see Theresa stiffen, and he looked up towards the noise at the crib across the room. He hadn't seen it before.

"What the hell?" Standing quietly, he stepped around Theresa.

The wood was painted sky blue, and Ryan grasped one of the bars of the crib, peering in.

"Oh my god." He could feel Theresa's guilt from where she lay on the floor behind him, but he couldn't turn.

The paint was chipped by his fingers, and he wondered how Theresa had managed to pay for the crib anyway – last time he saw her she hadn't been working.

Everything was slowly started to made sense; the time he saw her before prom, the way she wouldn't let him walk her to the door, the call he got from Chino. She'd never been in Atlanta, she'd been here. Because there was his baby, its head at an odd angle and its eyes half rolled into its sockets. And it looked just like him.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**A Jar of Disgust**

**Chapter two**

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He couldn't breathe.

Staring down at the rumpled blankets, Ryan swallowed. His baby was crying.

It was writhing on the mattress, and its face was twisting in utter agony, and it was _screaming_.

The head was cracked, like starched desert ground in the middle of summer, he could see the gaping holes in its skin, dark and infested with maggots. A lump was poking out the side of the baby's neck, barely covered with skin, and it was pointing in his direction. Thin lines of black traced down the side of its face, as though it they'd tricked out an ear, and he could picture the body screaming, thrashing and bleeding under his fingers. He shuddered, feeling vile.

Biting his bottom lip, his mouth dry, he watched his child's misery. Its mouth wasn't moving, and he could hear it, all around him – the disturbing wailing that crawled its way into his head and latched itself to his flesh. He couldn't blink, couldn't breathe.

"Theresa … what have you done?" He muttered, turning his body, but not his head, to where he knew she still lay on the floor, where she was staring at him.

The baby was screeching in his ear. The _baby_.

She'd told him she'd lost it. She'd fucking _rung_ him in _Portland_ telling him she didn't want him to come home. And there was his _baby_ lying on a filthy blanket screaming for him, its skin being eaten away by insects.

It was miserable and it was his fault. It had never seen its father before.

"What the _hell_ have you done?" Head spinning, Ryan took a step back and turned to Theresa.

Her blank eyes had followed him across the room and he watched her blink tiredly at him, as though it was okay. As though she hadn't lied to him, as though he wouldn't find out, and her eyes were smiling and she'd known it all along. And suddenly he was furious.

"You think it's funny!" He spat at her, clenching his fists. "I left _Newport_ for you and the Cohen's, then came back because you _told me you lost it_, and spend a year trying to make it better and now I find you had the fucking baby and you _lied_ about it! What the _fuck_ Theresa! What the hell am I supposed to do now!"

He could see her face screwing up, and she was going to _laugh_ at him, after everything she'd done.

"You stupid _bitch_, what the fuck do you think is going to happen now? I'm going to come back and live in this _shithole_ again with you and raise a fucking baby! Or do you think the Cohen's are going to pay for us because I'm turning eighteen in a few weeks and you think they're going to want us then?" Kicking out at the crib in front of him, and he heard the noise like an axe at his stomach.

She was crying.

He could hear her tears dripping into the carpet, he could taste her salty cheeks, and his baby clutched his arm through the bars and it _hurt_.

Pinched suddenly with remorse, Ryan lifted the shriveling baby out of its crib, its body like a doll of rubber, sagging in his arms. He rocked it gentle as he approached Theresa, his boots like bricks on pavement, too loud.

Kneeling beside her he ran his fingers over her shoulder, muttering sorry's as her body trembled. Her skin was peeling at the roughness of his hands, tinged yellow, and Ryan never realized how many veins she had, lying just below the surface. He could see them – they were blue.

He adjusted the baby in his other arm, and he let her know, "Everything's going to be okay now, Theresa. I'm going to make it better, I promise."

She knew that when she'd called him, though.

He wrapped his hand around her forearm and dragged her steadily backwards across the room, her feet scraping against the carpet as though she were an overgrown doll, her head tipped to the side, hair tangled and catching.

When his back hit the corner Ryan stopped and slid to the ground, a baby in each hand. Theresa's head dropped heavily on his lap, and she told him off for making a bigger mess on the carpet.

It's going to be expensive to clean.

Her perfume is making him want to vomit, but he stops himself. The baby's stopped crying, and all there is now is suffocating silence, and it's difficult to breathe.

Gazing down Ryan caught Theresa's eye. "Get some sleep; it'll be better in the morning." He whispered. He'd had enough of shouting.

His baby's will be better tomorrow.

He'll stay, to make sure.

The Cohen's will understand.

Rain hammered louder and louder against the roof, the sky darker than when he arrived, and Ryan idly wondered where the time went. It didn't seem like he'd been here very long at all.

Cradling the baby and stroking Theresa's hair, Ryan closed his eyes.

The Cohen's will understand.

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tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**A Jar of Disgust**

**Chapter three**

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Sandy's food sat stone cold in front of him.

Ryan hadn't come home that afternoon.

He'd been late from work, sure, but it wasn't like he was the only one out. Kirsten hadn't been there, neither Seth, so he'd just assumed Ryan was out with … friends …

The more Sandy thought of it, the weaker his reasoning seemed to become.

Ryan should've come home more than three hours ago. There was still no Range Rover in the driveway.

Sandy's fingers tapped on the table.

He'd give Ryan fifteen more minutes – that boy had some explaining to do.

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The jolt makes Theresa jump, and the baby's neck lets out a cracking noise, its head dropping further back in Ryan's arm.

Ryan removed his arm from around Theresa to fish around in his pocket for his ringing cellphone, it was buzzing violently next to his thigh, making his bones shake.

It had been peaceful. And now his baby was crying again.

Gently shifting on the floor, Ryan soothed the screeching mass, pressing the call button on his phone.

He didn't say anything. Theresa doesn't like noise anymore.

Sandy's voices throbbed through the phone, "Where are you!" Ryan could feel the words spitting out his lips, it was making his feet ache.

He frowned.

Sandy wasn't supposed to sound mad.

He's only looking after his babies.

"…Yeah?" The walls were pretty, they glowed a fuzzy white in the pitch dark around him. He felt like he was in a movie, the film catching on the projector crackling, everything in grays.

He liked gray; it was calming, pointless. Like him.

He could feel the prickles climbing up Sandy's neck through the phone. He saw Sandy take a breath of air, the heat traveling out his mouthpiece, tickling his ears.

"Ryan, come home right now."

Ryan tilted his head. The rain had started up again; there was thunder rippling through his toes, and it was bemusing.

"Do you have any idea how late it is?"

Twisting a strand of Theresa's hair around his finger, Ryan looked towards the door. Was Sandy serious? It was much too wet to start up a car, his babies might slip up.

Sandy takes another breath and it gushing up the phone, but Ryan doesn't want him to talk again. It hurts.

" … I don't think I can drive …" He can't get the words out properly; they're getting caught on his lips. Theresa doesn't _want_ him to talk.

He could taste Sandy frowning, his eyebrows crawling together, down his face till they were touching his nose. And when Sandy took a step back Ryan could feel it thump to the ground. Kirsten's there too, staring at him, questioningly.

"Are you okay, Ryan?" Sandy's concern is squashing at his throat.

Ryan frowns. Of course he's okay. His babies are here.

"Ryan?"

Ryan's tongue touches the top of his mouth. Dry. Because it's too wet outside.

" … Yeah." Theresa's not. She's splitting slightly at the seams; he can see some of her stuffing falling out.

Sandy sounds heavy. "You don't sound okay, kid."

The ceiling was smudged. Ryan remembered when he made pastel drawings, and he smoothed them with his fingers, distorting the scowls on his parent's faces. He could make them smile. The ceiling was too – it was grinning onto the walls.

They were smiling at _him_.

"Ryan!"

"… Yeah?" Ryan picks at the torn skin on the back of Theresa's neck, wondering how he was going to stitch her up properly, he didn't have any cotton.

"Kid, are you hurt? What's wrong?"

Ryan sighed, Sandy didn't get it. He's here and everything's "Fine …"

"Where are you?"

"… With my babies." They're falling apart in his hands, like old toys, shattered before their time. And Sandy was frowning again, and Ryan was there – right behind him, watching.

"What? … No, kid, where are you? The location, Ryan." Sandy thought something wasn't right, he was mashing his teeth together, Ryan could feel them scraping.

"Theresa needs some cotton, Sandy. Can you bring some? Her head's going to fall off." His voice was bouncing off the walls and he could hear himself, again and again.

" … What are you talking about Ryan?"

" … With my babies …"

"What's this about Theresa?"

Ryan pinched his bottom lip twisting it with amusement. " .. With my babies."

Sandy was saying something, it was jabbing into his skull, but Theresa had hung up the phone.

She wanted him to go back to bed.

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Rain was smearing the streets and blurring lights as the tires come to a stop.

There's a Range Rover outside of Theresa's house, it's parked steadily against the curb.

Sandy's surprised it's still in one piece.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

There were no lights on in Theresa's house, and Sandy didn't know what was going on.

For a street in Chino, it's oddly quiet. All he could hear was the rain pounding against the ground and trees whipping in the wind. The hairs on his arms were raised, and Sandy wasn't sure if it was just from the storm. The street lamp above him was working, one of the few in the neighborhood that actually is, casting pale, distorted light on the street around him, making the shadows around the buildings seem even darker.

Sandy swiftly walking up the front path, ducking in the rain and quickly checking the sides of the Range Rover as he passed by. It wasn't a cold night, the air humid around him and the rain warm, but chills were running up his back.

Trying to brush off the unease, Sandy knocked on the door. There was no response, and the wind screamed harshly through the trees. He reached for the doorknob, oblivious to the fact he was the second to do it that night. If he hadn't been, he'd be able to see the metal properly; its invisible dents where fists had squeezed it too tightly, trying to bend it out of shape, begging to be let out.

Walking inside, the room was pitch black. Sandy fumbled around looking for a light switch and the smell finally hit him in the face. It stank like death. Flicking on the lights Sandy looked around. Everything looked normal, except for the awful _smell_.

"Ryan?" Getting his phone out of his pocket – just in case – Sandy strode into the nearest doorway, the lights in the hall shining in. It was a kitchen. There were pots and cups in the sink, glasses and bottles on the bench. A nagging feeling told him something was out of place but Sandy ignored it, trying the next doorway frantically.

The stench was getting heavier, forcing its way up his nose, but the room was deserted as well.

Sandy's little dinner was threatening to come back up. "Ryan? Where are you?"

Walking quickly – head lowered, eyes raised – he headed towards the door at the end of the hallway, trying to calm himself down. It was getting darker around him, the lights not reaching as far, and the air felt thinner when he drew in a breath. The smell choking him, Sandy's eyes darted round the barely-lit room. He could make out a couple of objects, as he ran his hand down the wall looking for a switch, but not all. There was an untidy mess dumped over in one of the corners, and Sandy couldn't keep his eyes off it. When the light switched on and the door behind him banged shut, all Sandy could do was grip the phone.

For a moment he thought Ryan was dead. His face was white, his figure sagging and he didn't move. Sandy couldn't see him breathing. He walked carefully across the room, eyes wide at the scene before him. Standing stilly on top of crusted, bloody carpet, Sandy dialed the only number he could think of.

He could see Ryan's finger twitch.

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Bending down in front of his foster son, Sandy could see the maggots burrowing their way into Theresa's yellow skin. There was a fly crawling up Ryan's arm and he swatted it away, watching as Ryan's eyelids flickering against the light, his cracked lips parting and taking a breath.

"Hi Sandy."

His voice was quiet, yet it sounded loud, echoing over the rain. He sounded nonchalant, like he wasn't slumped against a wall propping up a couple of dead bodies. There were no creases on Ryan's forehead, and Sandy pictured him lying here in the dark, fitting the picture perfectly. In some strange part of his mind, he wondered what Kirsten would say if she was here instead of him.

The rain was heavy outside, and with the light on it seemed almost cozy. Ryan seemed comfortable enough, sitting in a corner with two lifeless heads leaning on his shoulders. His head was tipped to the side, like he couldn't be bothered picking it up.

Sandy reached forward, brushing Ryan's hair off his forehead, resting his hand on the side of Ryan's cold neck.

"It's going to be okay, kid," He assured quietly. Shooting a sad look at the bodies beside him, Sandy really didn't think it would. "The police are on their way,"

He watched Ryan frown and open his mouth a little more, breath escaping in a whoosh, "Why?" And he sounded genuinely confused, which made Sandy's concern deepen.

He just hoped Ryan couldn't hear how much his voice was trembling, "We're going to find out who did this, and I'm taking you home."

Ryan didn't respond, only blindly started picking at Theresa's arm again and Sandy cringed as the skin was peeled off. "Don't do that, kid."

Tilting his head up, Ryan sounded confident.

"She'll be okay, we'll get some glue. I can stick her wig back on, too." And Ryan's light blue eyes were looking at him, the corner of his lips turning upwards in a smile. He picked something off the ground and reached forward, presenting it to Sandy proudly. In his hand was a clump of hair, twisting around his fingers.

Sandy didn't know what to say.

_tbc._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

Sandy looked relieved when the sirens started wailing.

Seeming reluctant, he took his hand away from Ryan's face, where he'd sat chattered to him for a little while, about random things Ryan chose not to care about. He didn't feel very good, Theresa's perfume had been wafting up his nose for hours now, his stomach was getting angrier and he couldn't bear to listen to Sandy's idle titter.

When there was a loud knocking at the front door Ryan watched Sandy stand.

Turning before he exited, Sandy looked at him, "I'll be right back, kid. Okay? You stay right here, everything's going to be okay now."

And Sandy turned, he eyes bouncing over Theresa as he left the room.

Sandy wouldn't look at his babies. Ryan had noticed it after a while. Every time he'd turn to look at Theresa, or his son, Sandy would turn away in disgust. Ryan couldn't figure out why. Theresa had been very polite, had sat quietly next to him, smiling. She hadn't even said a word, and Sandy wouldn't look her in the eyes.

Theresa's head slipped further down Ryan's arm, and he held her tighter. "They'll be gone soon, don't worry," He assured her, eyes swiveled over to her limp hand resting on his thigh. "Kirsten's probably got lots of string and we can tie you all back together, just as soon as Sandy drives us there. Okay?"

His baby had adorably pudgy cheeks, and Ryan poked one, the flesh not as bouncy as he'd imagined and he made a mental note to pump them up when he twisted its head straight. Sandy had a ball pump in the garage, he's put the end in his baby's mouth, squeeze his lips around it.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the smell of perfume that was going to make him sick. He could hear voices from the hallway, getting closer. The house was too crowded already – Theresa didn't want more guests.

Ryan kept his eyes shut.

The voices were around him, now. Maybe if he ignored them they'd go away, leave him and his babies in peace.

He reached his hand up to Theresa's shoulder, playing with the peeling skin again.

Yes, glue would work. He could lift her up and put her on his bed, take off her clothes, and paste her back together.

He'd get some paint and cover the blue of her neck, and the splotches she had on her wrists.

"Ryan."

Shifting slightly, he picked at Theresa's shoulder with a bit more concentration.

"Can you stand up, kid?"

He'll get that nail polish he had of Marissa's and colour her nails pink again. He didn't like the blue she had on at the moment.

"Come on Ryan, will you let them go?"

Take her into the bath tub, scrub her feet and legs. Wash her perfume down the drain, and he'd dry her with his towel. She'll be clean again.

"Sir, if you'd kindly step aside."

He'll lay her in his bed; pull the blankets over her head. She was too cold, so he'd get in beside her and put his baby in her arms. She'll fall asleep, and everything will be better.

It was comfortable in the poolhouse. She'll like it there.

"Ryan, please. Let the go, kid. It's okay."

And when she's sleeping, he'll slip his hand down her chest and warm her up. Theresa always liked it when he did that. He'd lick her ear and whisper to her while she slept, biting her neck and nuzzling her hair, and he knew she'd wake up smiling.

"Ryan –"

"Sir, please don't make this hard."

Rough hands scraped against his arms, and Ryan started. Grabbing on to Theresa's waist he pulled her back as his baby was pried suddenly out of his grip.

"Ryan, let go."

Shit, shit, shit. Why the fuck did Sandy have to come and ruin everything?

He could hear his baby screaming, and he couldn't do anything about it.

There were hands on his chest, pushing him back, pulling Theresa towards them, away from him. They were squeezing her too tight, and now there'd be marks on her skin when he fixed her.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This _wasn't supposed to be happening_. Sandy said he was going to take them home.

He was getting pushed harder now, struggling against the bodies holding him back, trying to catch Theresa as she slipped through his fingertips just like Johnny had. This couldn't be happening again.

"Ryan! Calm down! This isn't helping things kid, stop it."

No, no, no, no, no. How the fuck was he going to make it better now?

There was so much noise, barking in his ears but Ryan wouldn't listen. Sandy's face was in front of him, and Ryan tried to push past him but Sandy pushed him back.

Theresa's body was getting dragged further away, her feet were scraping against the carpet, and then Ryan couldn't see her anymore, and Sandy wouldn't _move_.

This wasn't supposed to be happening.

Sagging, Ryan dropped into Sandy's chest. He could feel his foster fathers arms wrap around him, like he'd been holding it back all night, and all Ryan could do was flinch.

The smell in the room was winding its way up his nose, in his ears, under his tongue, soaking into his skin and Ryan couldn't put up with it anymore. It was clouding around him, and he could barely see past Sandy's shoulder when he lifted his head.

There was a faint pounding somewhere near his ear, so maybe Theresa hadn't gone as far as he'd thought, but it didn't help. He couldn't see her anymore, and she wasn't in his arms.

The noise around him muffled, and he buried his face into Sandy's warm shoulder, pressing away the hopelessness.

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It was still raining when Sandy finally managed to get Ryan to the car.

He'd moved the Range Rover into Theresa's garage, it had been empty and it was better than leaving it out on the street all night. He'd get it tomorrow, that wasn't what he was worried about.

Ryan hadn't said a word since the police had taken Theresa and the baby off him.

He was slumped in the back seat of the car and he hadn't looked up once.

Sandy could see him shaking as he did Ryan's seatbelt up for him, because Ryan hadn't made a move to. Ryan didn't even blink.

Sandy brushed Ryan's hair off his forehead, "It's going to be okay, Ryan. We're going home now." Trying to smile Sandy patted Ryan's should, stood up straight, and closed the door.

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When the car started to move Ryan finally turned his head.

Theresa was smiling at him, his baby on her lap.

He felt her hand brush his arm and her head rest on his shoulder. She didn't smell like perfume anymore.

Looking down, Ryan noted one of her fingers had been snapped back, and it was hanging limply against her hand, a pale shade of yellow.

He hadn't noticed that before.

Leaning down toward Theresa's ear he smiled, "Don't worry, Kirsten will have lots of string."

He would tie her back together.

"Sorry, Ryan? I didn't catch that." In the front, Sandy had twisted his head slightly.

Ryan frowned, staring at his foster father's hair. "Nothing … I wasn't talking to you."

As rain bounced off the windows, Sandy let it go, turning his eyes back to the road.

**tbc.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six **

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"Let's get you inside," Sandy whispered, his mouth near Ryan's ear.

The trip had been spent in silence, and the pelting rain had followed them home. There was a steady drumming from all around them, rain trickling down the drains, the lights outside rippling through all the drops of water.

Sandy reached forward and undid Ryan's belt.

"You think you can stand up?" He asked.

Ryan didn't respond.

Sandy pulled the teenager by the arm, and Ryan seemed to get the message, stepping out of the car, his hand momentarily grasping at the seat beside him.

"Come on, kid." He encouraged, steering the shaking boy towards the front door, clicking the car locked as he went. He had expected Kirsten to meet them outside, but she obviously hadn't heard the car come up the driveway as Sandy had to unlock the door himself.

He turned to Ryan before stepped inside and gave the kid a squeeze on the shoulder. "It's going to be okay." Ryan stared blankly back at him, his eyes wide and empty. Sandy guided him into the house.

As soon as she heard the door open, Kirsten was out of her seat.

"Oh god, Sandy. What happened? I've been waiting here for hours, and you weren't picking up!" She said frantically, rushing over to them, frowning. Looking directly at Ryan her face grew more confused. "What happened to your clothes?"

Sandy sighed. "Is there any chance you can get the spare bedroom set up? I don't think Ryan should sleep in the poolhouse for a while."

"What happened?"

"Kirsten, honey, it's a long story. I think we should wait until Ryan's in bed, I don't think he's up for a retelling tonight."

Kirsten paused, finally looking closer at Ryan. His clothes were rumpled, there were odd crumbles of crimson flakes sprinkled over his light blue shirt, and his hair was a mess. He wouldn't look her in the eye as she took a step closer to him, and she realized he was shaking, and his face a sickly pale, dark lines stretching under his eyes, shiny with sweat.

She placed her hand on his trembling arm, "Are you okay?" Ryan didn't answer, blinking slowly and staring at the ground.

"He will be." Sandy assured, his face set. "He just needs to have some sleep. Paramedics gave me some pills before we left."

Kirsten's head whipped around. "Paramedics? Sandy – what's going on?" She turned back to Ryan, "Did you get into a fight?"

"No. No fight." Ryan rasped, looking intently at Kirsten's shoulder, his lips cracked apart as he took in each shallow breath, air hissing down his tight throat.

"Kirsten, please. I will tell you as soon as we've got Ryan in bed, I promise. He's in shock. Can you go get his bed set up? I'm going to take Ryan to the poolhouse; he needs to get out of these clothes and into the shower." Sandy's arm tightened around Ryan's back, and the boy wouldn't look up.

Kirsten was quiet for a second, then nodded. "You need anything, sweetie? You don't look too good." She said to Ryan.

The teenager shook his head. "It's okay." He replied, the bright edge to his voice making Kirsten's frown deepen.

She looked towards Sandy again, and he nodded, pressing his lips together with concern. "I'll tell you the whole story soon, honey. We'll see you in about fifteen minutes?"

Reluctantly, Kirsten nodded, and watched silently as Sandy walked Ryan out the patio doors and back into the pouring rain, then she turned and headed upstairs.

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Ryan had taken the pills, surprisingly, without any dispute. He had been moved temporarily upstairs so the Cohen's could keep a closer eye on him, and Sandy left the room quietly, leaving the lamp on the bedside cabinet switched on, just in case Ryan woke up later. He'd made the kid promise to come get them if he needed them, and had finally let him sleep.

Sandy made his way out into the kitchen, where he found Kirsten sitting down at the table, coffee in hand and staring right at him.

"Are you going to tell me what happened, now?" She asked, pulling out the chair next to her for Sandy to sit down on.

Taking a sip out of Kirsten's glass, Sandy sighed, slumping into the chair.

"Theresa's dead."

Kirsten looked shocked. "Oh my god."

"That's not all …" Sandy folded his hands on the table, taking a deep breath, "It turns out she had the baby after all."

Kirsten blanched, "What?"

"When I walked into the house I found Ryan in her bedroom. He had the kid and Theresa in his lap, and the baby's neck had obviously been snapped."

Kirsten didn't say anything, her hand moving to her mouth.

"He kept picking at Theresa's skin, Kirsten. I called the ambulance as soon as I could, but Ryan refused to go to the hospital, like they suggested. From what I gathered he'd found them earlier that afternoon, had dragged them across the floor, and had been sitting in the corner with them, in the dark, for hours."

"Oh my god." Kirsten murmured, at a loss for words.

Sandy cringed slightly, and went on, "The police want Ryan's statement, so I have to take him down to the station tomorrow. I'm going to get in touch with some of my old friends over there, get this case bumped up the list, and find out exactly what happened to Theresa and the child as soon as possible. Ryan deserves to know what happened. The poor kid has barely blinked all night, paramedics say its shock, and he should be more focused when it wears off, not like tonight. But he's going to need therapy, and I don't know how he's going to react when we suggest that."

Kirsten was silent for a few minutes.

" … What are we going to tell Seth tomorrow?"

Grimacing, Sandy took another sip of Kirsten's coffee. "I think we should probably tell him exactly what happened, Kirsten. He needs to know how serious it is. We both know if Seth didn't get the full story he would try and drive it out of someone, and I would hate for that person to be Ryan. The kid has been through absolutely enough."

Nodding, Kirsten sighed. "Are you sure he's okay up there? You told him that he could come get us whenever he needed to?"

"Yeah. The pills he took were pretty strong, though. The medics said not to expect him awake for at least ten hours." Sandy replied, his voice soft with concern.

Kirsten looked down at the table, thinking, "I'll call the school in the morning; let them know what's going on. And I'm sure Seth will ask for a couple days off, as well."

Leaning over and taking Kirsten's hand, Sandy smiled sadly.

"What do you say we get some sleep? I think we're going to have our hands full in a few hours."

Nodding, Kirsten got up. Walking over the kitchen sink, she poured the cold coffee down the drain.

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**tbc.**

Review? Yes? No? Maybe? Come on darlings - I even enjoy a good flame. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I am painfully aware that I last updated this fic a few years ago. If you remember it, kudos to you - if not, it's not really a surprise.

**Some info, if you're lost:** We last left poor dead!Theresa and dead!baby with the police, and woobie Ryan got driven home and sent to bed. It was all very climatic, I know. This chapter is ... well - incomplete. I'll get to that after the chapter itself. I'll probably get kicked off ff.n if I try and post it here. Eeep.

Anyways ...

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**A Jar of Disgust **

_**Chapter Seven **_

That's right, biatch.

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When Ryan shuffled into the kitchen, Seth froze.

His spoon was paused above his bowl of cereal, milk steadily starting to drip onto the tablecloth.

He watched silently as Ryan made his way past the bench stools and over to the bagels.

Where the hell were his parents? He couldn't face Ryan like this, alone.

They'd explained everything that morning, about Theresa, about the baby, about how they were expecting Ryan to act "off" and "possibly angry" and maybe "some tears". They'd told him chances were Ryan wouldn't even get out of bed. But …

Well, what was he doing here?

He watched as his foster brother picked carefully through the drawer, not looking at him, nor saying anything, bringing out a pair of knives and setting them on a plate.

Seth stared openly, mouth slightly parted, when Ryan got out the cream cheese and proceeded to smear it all over two bagels, and placed them carefully next to each other, whilst grabbing two glasses and pouring orange juice, then putting everything onto a tray.

Seth cleared his throat. Here goes nothing.

"Um … dude. What are you doing?" he asked, stretching his head forward to try and get a better look at the apples Ryan was piling onto the tray.

Ryan's eyes darted up, staring at Seth like he's crazy. "Making some breakfast," he said, speaking slowly.

Theresa's dead.

Seth was under the impression he wouldn't be that hungry.

"Oh." Seth looked down at the table, looking at his soggy cereal. "O-okay."

He glanced at Ryan again, not knowing what to say. "Carry on then, I guess …"

As soon as Ryan had left the room, his feet dragging noisily along the carpet, Seth pinched himself.

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Sandy was quiet for a few seconds, frozen, fist raised, in front of the closed guest room door.

Maybe he should just leave the kid alone for a bit …

'… _and I don't know how he's going to react when we suggest that …'_

No. No. He had to talk to Ryan about it as soon as possible. Things get harder to do the longer you put them off, and he knew this for a fact.

It had to be today.

Tapping lightly, Sandy silently prayed that maybe Ryan wouldn't hear – that maybe he was sleeping, or really not up for guests.

"Come in." Ryan's voice was faint through the wood, and Sandy braced himself as he opened the door.

Frowning immediately, he was confused to see Ryan sitting on the floor beside the bed, two plates of food in front of him – one finished, one untouched.

" … Are you okay?" Sandy enquired, walking silently into the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Ryan twisted his head, staring up at Sandy blankly. His knees were bent in front of him, hair unbrushed and dull, skin oily, and his eyes seemed glazed – though it could have been the angle Sandy was at.

He didn't answer.

Stepping forward, Sandy cleared his throat, "… Ryan?"

Glancing back towards the plates, Ryan nodded.

"Yeah?"

'_How's about we drag you to a shrink and pump you full of anti-depressants, kid, what do you say?_'

"Do … – well, ah … Rosa made some pancakes for breakfast, I was wondering if you wanted some?"

'_Coward._'

Wincing, Sandy told the voice in his head to shut up. Looking back down at the food on the floor, he fiddled with his collar. "Although, um … looks like you've already eaten."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. We got full, and …" Ryan gestured over at the food tray, looking wearily at Sandy.

Sandy backtracked immediately, "No, its okay Ryan, that's okay. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, kid, that you weren't sick or anything,"

Ryan gave Sandy an odd look, taking a deep breath, "I'm fine," he expelled, his eyebrows twitching downwards for a moment.

Ten minutes later and Sandy was making his way back downstairs, trying to tell himself that Ryan was speaking the truth.

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The day passed oddly normally.

Ryan was rarely seen out of the poolhouse on a usual day, and Sandy felt terrible for thinking it, but there really wasn't much difference now.

By the time dinner came, Sandy was rather optimistic. Ryan wasn't fighting anyone, yelling, or doing anything other then his usual brooding.

He was taking it much better then Sandy had anticipated.

And Sandy liked it.

Maybe they had been too quick to jump to conclusions, assuming Ryan would go off the wall, when he wasn't. He'd quietly stayed in the guest room all day, and he'd eaten breakfast and lunch.

And here he was, picking at his dinner on the opposite side of the table, only a faint frown, tugging downwards at his chin.

Maybe the therapist suggestion could wait a few days after all.

Palming Ryan his sleeping pills, courtesy of the previous night's paramedic, Sandy continued on with his meal.

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So, I'm going to have to cut off there. ... _looks around for undercover ff.n officials_ ...

Listen up folks:

There most certainly is **not** an extra page to this chapter. _No sir.  
_  
There is also, most definately NOT a link to a **homepage** in my **Profile**. Nor does this link point you in the direction of **my journal**. And there is absolutely NO chance that this journal has posted the **full version of chapter seven**. So do _NOT_ go looking.

(Also, if you're a bit late reading this, there is also no chance of there being a link in this journal titled "_User Info_", that, if you scroll down far enough, has a link to the users "_Memories_".) I don't know what you're talking about.

**But ... if you DID happen to come across something of the like - please heed the warning at the top of the page - because there would be a good reason it wasn't posted on ff.n.**

Now ... flame me!


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